


"Oh."

by crashing_into_the_sun



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU- Normal, AU- Soulmates, Boys Kissing, Gay, M/M, Orphan - Freeform, Orphanage, no I do not care, yes I know it's played out, yes this is yet another soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashing_into_the_sun/pseuds/crashing_into_the_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm having the worst writers block ever, so I decided to take a crack at a soulmates AU. Also, I suck at summaries. Baz Pitch doesn't want a soulmate. Simon Snow wants one desperately. They meet in a bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Oh."

Simon Snow wanted a soulmate desperately. His tattoo, written in neat, bold cursive scrawl, had begun to fade in when he was about twelve. And now he was seventeen, and he'd been waiting five years to hear those words (although, in truth, they weren't very romantic words at all. His soulmate sounded like kind of a jerk).

Still, his life now didn't hold much to look forward to other than the soulmate and his eighteenth birthday, when he could finally get the hell out of dodge. But that wasn't for months, and his soulmate could come any day. It was far more exciting to wake up every day and think ' _today could be it_!' than to wait tirelessly for a day that seemed eons away.

It was on the inside of his wrist, so he always wore long sleeved shirts or bracelets to cover it up. It had always felt like his little secret. While the other children at the orphanage were eagerly pulling up their shirts to show tattoos half-formed on their ribcage and wearing shorts only to show the letters on the backs of their knees, Simon was hiding his. It showed up one letter at a time, and not in order. The first letter was a 'W', and he fantasized that it would be a gutsy girl, seeing him for the first time, falling in love with him immediately, and asking him in a rushed voice, "Will you go out with me?" But as more letters appeared, all jumbled (an F, then two Os on either side of it, then a C and so on) it became clear that his soulmate was... well... less than polite.

The whole tattoo spelled "Oh, fuck off, will you?".

Simon didn't care. He could not care one bit less that his soulmate was, apparently, an asshole. Whoever she was, she had the neatest, most old fashioned handwriting he'd ever seen, beautiful, calligraphy-like letters all looping together like a fine ribbon. He imagined her to look something like Agatha Wellbelove, the most beautiful girl he'd seen to date, but it couldn't have been her (first, because her first words to him were, "You smell like cinnamon", and second, because she didn't have a tattoo. It happened sometimes, that people didn't have soulmates. She cried about it often). Agatha had warm, brown doe eyes and long hair like corn silk. She had lived in the girls' section of the orphanage until recently, when she'd moved out and gotten a flat of her own on her eighteenth. Everyone was itching to get out of there, and usually cut all ties with the orphanage upon leaving, but Agatha still called sometimes and asked for Simon. It was nice.

The alarm went off, and Simon sat up out of his cot, groaning. Several other boys did the same. The sixteen and seventeen year olds were able to walk around town as long as they signed out and in, and came back before seven, and Simon was thinking about going down to his favorite coffee shop with what little money he earned from lawn mowing in the summer, and snow shoveling in the winter, and ordering some scones. Today was no different than any other day. He wondered if he'd meet his soulmate. He probably wouldn't.

******************************

Baz Pitch dreaded the day he met his soulmate. One, because he sounded like a twat, ("Hey, you can't smoke in here"), two, because his handwriting was shit, and three, because he really didn't want one. He didn't want to fall in love. He'd had enough of love. He loved his mother, and she died. He loved his father (in a twisted kind of way), and they hadn't spoken in almost three months ("Dad, I'm gay." "Get out of my house."). He loved his sister, Mordelia, and he couldn't do anything to help her when their father would go into fits of rage, smashing plates and windows (and sometimes Baz's face) and she would hide under the bed, her small, undernourished body racked with sobs for hours. Now that he'd moved out, he could do even less for her. But he'd given her a number, in case she ever needed his help. He'd kill Malcolm if he ever laid a finger on Mordi.

She hadn't called.

As far as Baz was concerned, life could go so much better if you just didn't care. About anything. People, yourself, whatever. Love ended in disaster of some sort, every time. And even though he'd never experienced romantic love, he figured that it'd be just as bad, if not worse, and he wanted to do everything in his power to avoid it.

It was just an innocent visit to the coffee shop. He wanted a latte ( _is that a crime_?).

Fuck.

 _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_.

Malcolm. In the coffee shop. Two people in front of him. Ordering a coffee, and Baz knew exactly how he wanted it (black). Looking tall and mean and awful. Looking like Baz really shouldn't have left Mordi with him, no matter how hard it would have been to take her away.

He was about to turn, and Baz was still contemplating what to do. Fight or flight.

Baz flew.

*******************************

The smell of smoke assaulted Simon when he entered the bathroom. Who the hell was smoking in here? It was a public building, there was a no smoking sign two feet from the goddamned door. Christ, could people not read? He looked around for the culprit, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the bathroom.

He heard a faint hum from one of the two stalls.

"Hey," he said, a little irritated. "You can't smoke in here."

Baz took a sharp breath.

"I said, you can't fucking smoke in here. Did you not see the sign? Hello?" Baz needed to find the quickest possible way to get rid of him. Jesus. Fuck. What a day. It wasn't even nine yet and already he'd been inadvertently chased away by his dick father and (sort of) met his soulmate. His idiot soulmate, whose voice was just like his dumb handwriting- inviting, but rough around the edges.

"Oh, fuck off, will you?"

Simon froze. What? What the hell was his soulmate doing in a boys' bathroom? And the voice... Not exactly deep, but throaty and smooth and impossibly not-belonging-to-a-female. He didn't know what to say, and so he didn't say anything.

What he did do was far weirder.

He went into the stall next to the guy (it was a _guy_ ), clambered clumsily onto the back of the toilet, and peered over the side.

Gorgeous. That was the only word that registered in Simon's mind for a whole thirty seconds. The boy (definitely, _definitely_ a boy) had thick, shoulder length hair, pitch black, and reddish-gold skin. He was sitting on the back of the toilet, legs crossed, with a cigarette hanging casually from his lips. He was exotic. He was beautiful. He looked up. He was _pissed._

"What the actual fuck are you doing?" He snapped. Simon could see he'd been crying. His stunning grayish greenish every-color no-color-at-all eyes were rimmed with red and full of tears. "Get away from me, you prick."

Simon found his voice. "No. I'm not going to get away from you. Not until I figure out a few things."

"Like?"

"Let me see your tattoo." Simon demanded.

"And why, exactly, would I want to do that?"

"Because... Because just do it okay?" The desperation crept into Simon's eyes. He looked at the boy pleadingly.

Baz didn't want to, he wasn't going to, nope, not happening.

He pulled the hair away from the back of his neck and showed the beautiful boy his tattoo.

 _God damn you_ , Baz thought. He was so flawless. He was glowing, like the sun was trapped inside of him, shining out through his curly bronze hair and his lovely gold skin and his bright blue eyes and his honey-coated voice.

"Oh." It was soft. He sounded defeated. "So I guess..."

"We're soulmates," Baz finished for him. "Disappointed? I would be." He wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"No, no-" Simon interrupted quickly. "It's not that at all. _No_."

"Then what is it? Because you look like you just found out that all your Christmas presents were underwear." Baz studied him for a second. "And that none of them fit. And they may or may not be used." Simon suppressed a giggle.

Simon spoke slowly and chose his words carefully. "I just... didn't think... that I liked guys."

"Good. So go away."

"No. We're going out on a date. Right now. I need to figure this out."

"That's how you ask someone out? You didn't even actually ask." But he left the bathroom with him.

"This is some crazy shit," Simon muttered, just loudly enough for Baz to hear. "Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here." Baz paused. "And don't expect this to be like a _date_. I'm not ready for a date. I don't even..."

"Want me? You wouldn't be the first. Now hurry the hell up. I don't want to hear your whining. How does a walk in the park sound to you? I'd invite you to my house but I don't have one." He was met with a blank stare. "I'm Simon, by the way. And you're a git. Who introduces themselves with 'Fuck off'? You do realize I have that permanently tattooed on my body, right?"

Simon. Simon talked way too fast, all his words running together into one big long word, barely intelligible. "I-"

"Shhhhhh. We're going to the park." Baz walked in silence for a while, a step behind Simon, studying him. He was shining. He was even more beautiful in the summer sun, paralleling the brightness of the warm day. Clad in basketball-type shorts and a muscle shirt, Baz could see that he had dozens of moles scattered all over his body. On his face was a sweep of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He was substantially shorter than Baz, probably by three or four inches, but then again, Baz was _tall_. The kind of tall that makes people stop you in the street and say "Wow, you're tall." Little kids looked at him and whispered to their mothers in awe, "Look, it's a giant!".

"If you don't have a house..." Baz began timidly. "Then where do you live?"

"I don't think I want to talk about it right now." Simon didn't turn around, didn't even flinch at the question, but in his head, all he could think was _you can't tell him. He'll think you're a freak_.

"Oh." Usually, Baz was fantastic with words. He could spin poems out of his head like woven silk and his wit was quick and sharp, throwing insults and jabs left and right, comebacks falling from his mouth with ease. He was a good conversationalist, too, but that was mostly because he couldn't tolerate small talk. It bored the hell out of him. Life was short, he figured, so why waste it on discussion of the weather? But this boy... He was stealing everything. Baz's words, his breath, and apparently his free will, because every step towards the park he knew he should turn around, wanted to- but didn't.

"What's your name?" Simon asked, glancing back for just a moment. Just long enough to catch Baz's eyes and bring a soft blush to his cheeks.

"Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch," Baz said as casually as he could manage. "But you can call me Baz."

"Baz." He considered it for a moment. "I like it. It suits you. Dark. Mysterious. Straight out of a romance novel."

They reached the park and suddenly neither of them knew what to do. It was awkward and the sun was too bright, so they were both sweaty and squinting and trying too hard not to look too long at the other one. Was this how it was supposed to be? Weren't you supposed to fall right into your soulmate, and everything was supposed to feel right, like it had just clicked into place? Because it didn't feel that way, not at all. It felt strange and a little bit empty and very, very stilted. Their conversation wasn't going anywhere. There was no conversation, neither of them were even speaking.

"I play the violin," Baz said, a little too loud. It was a stupid thing to say, a total non-sequitur, but he said it because he wanted to know if Simon played an instrument. He could picture him jamming out on a bass guitar or banging on a drum set. But Simon's response surprised him.

"I always wanted to learn to play the violin." He spoke in a wistful tone. "But they don't offer music lessons at the orphanage."

"Oh." Simon's face was bright red.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Simon sighed. "Let's play a bit of a game. I'll say something about me, then you say something about you. Rapid-fire, you know, no time to judge. I'll start, if you like." Baz nodded. "My favorite food is sour-cherry scones."

"I like to watch Disney movies sometimes. When I'm alone."

"I think you're beautiful. Your hair looks really soft." Simon reached out to touch it, gently, then withdrew his hand. "I don't think you should ever cut it."

"I grow it long to hide my tattoo." He paused. Simon took off his rubber bracelets.

"My tattoo is on my wrist. I don't like people to see it either."

"I have a little sister. I miss her very much."

"I miss my mother very much. She died when I was ten."

"My mother died, too. When I was seven. And as far as my father's concerned, I died about three months ago, when I told him I was gay."

"I have no one to tell."

"You can tell me."

"Can I tell you anything?"

"Anything."

"I think I already love you." _Oh_.

"Oh." And then Baz felt it. The complete, oh-wow-I've-been-waiting-my-whole-life-for-this-don't-let-it-stop, heart warming, mind shaking feeling of finally finding your soulmate. How could he not have wanted this? Baz took Simon's hand.

"Oh." Simon let his fingers slip into Baz's.

For once, Baz didn't need to be good with words. He didn't need to say a single thing. All he needed to do was lean over and press his lips ever-so-lightly against Simon's temple. Then his nose. Then his lips. He was warm and he tasted like scones and cinnamon and everything _good_ in the world, how could anything be this lovely, this _good_.

" _Oh_."


End file.
